


Coping

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Character Death, Coping, F/F, F/M, Gen, Sad, slightly angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott McCall and his pack learn to deal with and begin to experience the aftermath of the death of one of their pack members.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am so very sorry for not writing recently. I am the literal worst at updating and creating new stories, and for that I apologize. This story about Allison's death probably doesn't help, but I need to let some of these feelings out. I am not coping with my favorite fictional character's death very well. I got some of the idea of Lydia's part of the story from a post on Tumblr here: http://kedreeva.tumblr.com/post/80181741223/okay-but-just-imagine-lydia-taking-up-allisons

He wakes up with the startling feeling that he is falling. There is only a moment of relief when his heart rate stabilizes before he realizes that he actually  _is_ falling. 

He has been falling since she died in his arms. Since she looked up at him with eyes without pain and squeezed his hand one last time before it fell to her side, limp. He has been falling since his tears mixed with hers on her paled face. He's been falling into a dark abyss where the only hope of getting out was seeing her face again, and that, he knew, was completely and utterly impossible.

Scott McCall is sitting in his bed at 2:16 AM with sweat plastering his shirt to his skin and tear stains on his pillow, falling because his first love died.

He slips out of bed and walks into his bathroom. In the mirror, he sees an image of someone else. Someone who lost a person they care about, someone who has gone through way too much for a teenager his age. _God, all of the shit I've had to deal with_.

And he knows he shouldn't be thinking about it, but his mind wanders over to his time spent with Allison before things went terribly wrong. 

_Calm down_ , he keeps telling himself. He feels himself slipping into a full blown anxiety attack, his control over his emotions slowly reaching the danger zone. His hands are shaking and he can't grab the edge of the sink, and he watches himself struggle, except it looks like he's watching someone else. Like maybe he's watching on an old TV, where the edges are fuzzy and the entire picture is discolored, his hands a weird blue color. 

With sudden clarity, he realizes this must be his fault. All of this is his fault, he made everything go terribly wrong. Allison died on his account; he could have saved her. If he was smart enough to listen to Lydia's warnings, if he was there to protect Allison when the Oni impaled her with that stupid fucking demon knife. _His fault, his fault, his fault._ Now all his friends, his pack- Stiles, Derek, Lydia, even Ethan- will despise him because he couldn't live up to be the hero he was supposed to be. The alpha. He even managed to let Aiden die, and now Ethan isn't a twin anymore. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He feels pain in his hands, and the view on the small, discolored TV shifts down to his hands and they are bleeding, the ceramic of the sink cracked and falling apart underneath his bloodied fists. A scream- _who's screaming?_ \- in the background noise of the TV, and then a quiet knocking. No, louder, much louder, unbearably loud. He falls to the ground beside the sink and covers his ears. _Shut up!_

Legs. Feet shuffle into view and Scott feels a pressure on his shoulders, his hands, and his face. It is irritating and he wants it to stop.

"No," a garbled voice croaks, and he recognizes it as his own.

Whispering.

"Scott, Scott! Listen to me, Scott! Are you okay? Can you hear me? Scott!," a voice shouts, panicked. 

A set of hands-no, multiple- pick him up from the ground and the TV comes into focus, revealing Stiles worried face, streaked with tears.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm losing my best friend."

Scott doesn't understand, but it would take too much effort to ask. He feels his bed beneath him next and he takes this as a OK to release his control on consciousness. Slowly, he loses his sense of reality and spirals towards the end of this falling. Right before the darkness closes in on him, he realizes there isn't  an end, not for a while, at least. He must cope with the death of the his first love, the person he will always love.

 

The whispers surround her, sussurate her.

Lydia plucks the strings of Allison's crossbow delicately, as if it is an ancient artifact not to be handled with hands. It was odd; usually the whispers were only those of other banshees. Sad, sullen whispers reporting deaths or warning of danger. With Allison's beautiful weapon, however, it was Allison's voice. It was her laugh, he frustrated grunt- probably used when she missed her target-, her whisper, even her steady, even breaths and her panicked, uneven ones, each aspect of the hunter so real and so intrinsic that Lydia could believe Allison was standing right next to her if she closed her eyes.

But she isn't standing next to her, and that is something Lydia has a very hard time coping with ever since Allison's death.

Once more, Lydia pulls at the string lightly and listens to her best friend's voice. A single tear falls from Lydia's eye and lands onto the cool metal of the bow pressed up against her face.

_Lydia._

She lets out a sob that shakes her whole body.

"Allison?" she whispers. "Is that you?"

Lydia plucks the string again, this time more desperately, positive she heard Allison's voice addressing her. She doesn't hear a response.

"Please, Allison,  _please_ ," Lydia cries, tears burning the corners of her eyes and her cheeks. Again, she pulls at the string, and again, there is no response.

Lydia lets out one more sob before vowing to compose herself. She takes a deep breath and straightens up, not realizing she had been bending over the crossbow, concentrating on Allison's voice. She closes her eyes and opens them again, ridding the last of the tears.

The leaves that had fallen off the trees at the beginning of Fall crunch under her feet as she heads through the forest. Her finger slips on the metal of the crossbow and plucks the string. 

_Lydia, it's okay where I am. I'm okay. Please don't cry for me._

Her breath comes in a sharp intake that stings her throat and leaves it raw. She raises the crossbow to her ear and pulls the string outward and releases.

_Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger. I'll be looking out for you._

It has been weeks since Allison's death and this is the first time Lydia could breath without feeling like there was an elephant sitting on her chest. One final sob of relief and then Lydia realizes something.It's not having Allison back, but it's enough to know that Allison is looking out for her. Lydia didn't think it was possible, but she actually smiled at the thought.

Allison was the pack's guardian angel now.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wowie. I am so sorry for that. I have found that I am only capable of writing sad stories. I really did hope you enjoyed, however devastating the actual message of the story is, and I am sorry for not writing anything for a while.


End file.
